Behind the scenes at Wembley '99 as Watford win the Play-Off

Even now at 52 years of age and having been round the proverbial block many times, I still get nervous before each Watford game. I get nervous when my sons do anything important. I get nervous even before interviewing people.

To me it’s not a sign of weakness, it shows I care about what’s about to happen and I understand the significance of it – and that, in turn, shows I’m ready.

On the morning of May 31, 1999, I was very, very nervous. It was Play-Off Final day, which was a huge occasion for Watford FC, and a big one for me professionally too.

The squad and staff stayed at the Hilton in Watford the night before, and I headed over to join them for breakfast (no surprise there, for anyone who knows me).

Then we took the coach for the short trip to Wembley. It was a venue that GT knew very well from his England days, and he had worked out that the end of the stadium where Bolton fans would be was where the coach would have to drive through to get into the tunnel.

“This’ll be fun,” he said.

Sure enough as we got nearer to the stadium we stopped seeing fans of both teams, and it largely became a sea of white-shirted supporters – who weren’t that pleased to see us.

It wasn’t quite the all-out attack we’d encountered from the home fans on the way to Birmingham, but any waves we got from the Bolton fans didn’t require all of the fingers on their hands, put it that way.

Wembley Stadium, as it looked in 1999 (Image: Action Images)

Inside the sanctity of the tunnel, we filed off the bus and into the dressing room. It was easily the biggest I’d ever seen. Obviously it wasn’t anywhere near as flash or gadget-filled as modern-day changing rooms, but it was very big and there were adjoining rooms with showers, massage tables and then the legendary huge baths.

We were there a good 90 minutes before kick-off, but the water was already running in one of the baths.

“Some players like a soak at half-time,” said one of the Wembley staff, “and it’ll take nearly two hours to fill it.”

In the corner of the changing area were two white doors which almost created a sort of false wall.

GT caught me looking at them and said: “Just wait Frenchy, you’ll love what’s behind those.”

A few minutes later they opened – and there was a full kitchen, and a couple of lads making food, drinks and snacks. A sort of ‘healthy’ pre-match buffet.

There were sports drinks, water, hot drinks, fruits, that sort of thing. Sadly, no pies or sausage rolls, but impressive none the less. Those two lads were there before the game, again at half-time and then after the match – the spread after the final was much more to my taste.

I was still soaking it all in when somebody said “Right, let’s go and have a look at this pitch.”

Everyone headed out of the door and into the tunnel. The old Wembley Stadium had a wide, long tunnel and the dressing room door was nearer the back of the stand than the pitch. So when you came out of the door and turned left, as we did, there was just a small circle of light in the distance.

Nigel Gibbs (right) and Darren Bazeley spot friends and family in the stands before the 1999 Play-Off Final (Image: Watford Observer)

Walking up the tunnel the light became brighter and greater, before we stepped out into the fresh air, across the old dog track and onto the hallowed turf.

As someone who has loved football all his life and dreamed of playing at Wembley for my beloved Watford, I knew this was as close as I was ever going to get. It made me tremble a bit, and I remember being a bit choked up.

The stadium had fans inside already, but it was nowhere near full, which meant it was relatively easy to pick people out.

We walked towards the far end where the Watford fans were, and I vividly recall thinking “Yes, you are striding across the Wembley pitch with the Watford players in a club suit.”

My wife, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law had seats behind the goal at the front of the upper tier. They said they were going to get in there early, and sure enough as we got closer I could see them and they could see me.

You’ve doubtless seen people on the pitch at Wembley before big games, pointing at the stands and waving. That was me.

I remember my Mum disappearing for a while and then coming back. I later found out she’d gone off to have a bit of a cry. I never really understood why until my own two sons had particularly momentous moments in their life and I was there to see them.

By the time we headed back to the dressing room the Bolton end had filled up more and we had to walk through them to go down the tunnel. There was much of the same sign language we’d seen on the bus, except this time we could hear them too.

As my parents were about 100 yards away, I knew I could easily prove what they were shouting at me was factually incorrect.

When we got back in the dressing room most of the laughter and banter died down. Players went into the pre-match routine. Some sat quietly reading the programme, some had a massage, others stood chatting.

I didn’t go back out for the warm-up as I used that time to introduce myself to the various media people in and around the tunnel area, got an idea of what they might want and made notes.

The Watford players warm up before the 1999 Play-Off Final at Wembley. (Image: Watford Observer)

Pre-match media demands were minimal really: they knew everyone wanted to focus on the game ahead.

Interviews done, we went into the dressing room and the door was shut. Graham stood and delivered his final words. I cannot recall any of them to be honest, but I do distinctly remember listening to what he said and the combination of his messages, the adrenaline and emotion made me think I’d happily run through a brick wall for him.

A bell sounded, and players stood up and started shouting, high-fiving and hugging each other. Graham told them to pause before they opened the door.

“Let them wait for us,” he advised.

There is a video on YouTube with extended highlights which shows the Bolton team lined up in the tunnel, looking over their shoulders repeatedly at our dressing room door. You’ll even see referee Terry Heilbron waiting too, and eventually one of his linesmen had to knock on our door.

Then it was out into the tunnel. I was pretty much at the end of the queue so when I emerged from the dressing room all I could see was the back of the two lines of players and that same small circle of day light in the distance.

This time though, there was noise. It sounded distant at first but as we headed to the end of the tunnel it got increasingly louder. I’m pretty sure that ‘Right Here Right Now’ by Fatboy Slim was on the PA system and there were fireworks as we stepped out from the extended plastic tunnel onto the surround of the pitch.

It was a truly amazing experience. Unforgettable. Goosebumps and hairs standing up on the back of my neck. And I wasn’t even playing.

We headed around the dog track and got some more welcomes from the Bolton fans. Once we got to the technical area we were told there was a limit on how many people could sit there. Graham stepped forward and said to the Wembley official: “These are two of my key backroom staff but we won’t have room for them, can you kindly take them to the overflow area.”

That was the cue for me and Kirk Wheeler, from the club’s Football in the Community scheme, to follow the blazer-wearing gentleman down behind the technical area, through a door, up some stairs, down a corridor and then out into the stadium through another door.

We were told we could sit where we wanted in the front row of what was a small block of seats. They were perfect, overlooking half-way and above the dug-outs.

Only when we turned round did we realise we were sitting in a small area in front of, and just below, the old Royal Box.

Nick Wright's overhead kick is about to hit the net, and Steve Palmer has clearly worked that out! (Image: Action Images)

I remember me and Kirk saying we’d have to try and keep a lid on any celebrations, which lasted exactly until that overhead kick from Nick Wright hit the net. At that point I wouldn’t have cared if I’d been in the British Library – we were both out of our seats, jumping around and whooping.

Just before half-time the same official came and escorted back to the dressing room.

It was buzzing in there, but quite quickly things calmed down. Graham had his say, as did Kenny and Luther Blissett. Captain Robert Page spoke too, and some of the players also interjected. It was all quite calm if still very intense.

The players then headed back out, and we were guided back to our seats. I remember very little about the second half other than what I’ve seen online in the highlights.

As Alon Hazan was replacing Wright with three minutes to go, the Wembley official came and said he’d take us down to the technical area so we were there when the final whistle went.

Seconds after we arrived in the area between the two sets of technical area seats, Micah Hyde sent Peter Kennedy away, he squared to Allan Smart, and you know the rest.

Allan Smart is on his knees celebrating the second goal. (Image: Watford Observer)

I had a pitch level view of that goal and the celebrations among the Watford fans. I had often wondered how I might react at moment of extreme joy – the answer was I jumped about, screamed and got emotional.

As soon as the final whistle went we went out on the pitch. I just remember hugging the likes of GT, Nigel Gibbs, Kenny, Luther and Tommy Smith, who were all in the technical area, before I started to reach the players and began the same process with them.

The noise at pitch level was deafening, and the Watford end of the ground looked like a sea of yellow, red and black whipped by the storm of ecstasy.

I could see all my family again, even though there were 30,000-odd people in our half of the stadium now. I punched the air, they punched the air. That was my footballing moment – not as significant or involved as the players, but my few seconds of sharing joy with my immediate nearest and dearest and the wider Watford family.

A few things stick in my mind. GT turning to find Rita in the stands and giving her a wave before joining in the celebrations. Micah Hyde, minus shirt, dancing like a madman. Players throwing their boots into the crowd.

Mission accomplished! (Image: Action Images)

The celebrations seemed to go on for ages before slowly the players turned to head towards the tunnel and the fans began to filter out.

As we headed back down the pitch – and I can still see it in my mind’s eye – Tommy Mooney was sat on the pitch, picking up a pinch of grass and tucking it in his sock. That was what it meant, those small mementoes.

Back in the tunnel and the TV crews were circling, as were FA officials to take GT and selected players off to talk to the written press and radio.

I started to gather myself to switch from fan mode into work mode. Over came Graham.

“It’s alright Frenchy, you go and enjoy it. This is all our day. I’ll sort the press stuff, you get in that dressing room son.”

I can’t remember putting up any sort of fight.

Paul Robinson and Tommy Mooney celebrate the Play-Off Final victory. (Image: Watford Observer)

The dressing room was alive with people dancing, singing, shouting and generally going wild. My eyes were drawn to a very substantial buffet and selection of beverages, and by now the players had bottles of beer and champagne.

I was juggling a plate of sandwiches, pork pie and cake along with a beer when a Sky crew asked if they could come in. The players would probably have let anyone in at that point, and so there were interviews inside the dressing room.

I’ve still got the full Sky programme on a VHS somewhere, and I know I pop up a few times in the background of those interviews, buffet in hand, ever the consummate professional.

More than once I physically and mentally took a step back, just to take a photograph in my brain of where I was and what I was part of.

The little boy from Croxley Green who had gone to Open Days at Vicarage Road as a primary-school aged fan; wrote to Graham Taylor and got a signed letter back as part of a school project; written match reports about his school team because he wasn’t good enough to get a game; he’d combined his love of football, Watford and writing to end up part of the first-team party on one of the club’s greatest days.

And that is where my ‘inside’ story ends. There was, as many will know, a tremendous party that night at Sopwell House in St Albans. But as that was back in the days when I still consumed alcohol, I literally have no recollection of any of it.

To be honest, I’d got enough memories banked.